


a new world for the weary

by shades



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sharing a Bed, past york/washington, some gore, we're all sick of your shit Agent Washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shades/pseuds/shades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This, Tucker found himself thinking, was a dungeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a new world for the weary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltsanford](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltsanford/gifts).



> For the inspired bed sharing trope challenge that [saltsanford](http://littlefists.tumblr.com/tagged/tuckingtonbedsharingweek2k16) had on tumblr a while back. I, as ever, write at a glacial pace and am a little late to the party.

This, Tucker found himself thinking, was a dungeon.

 It didn’t really make any sense in a universe resplendent with marvels of engineering and technology.It should have been a brig.At worst, a cell.Those words implied things like, well, decent lighting.A certain amount of cleanliness.Meals that came by at least once a day. 

 But, no.Tucker, the savior of an alien race, father to an alien son, and best friend of smart-mouthed, overrated Siri knock off, was trapped in a _dungeon_.Fan-fucking-tastical.It was too much to hope that some enterprising dwarves would suddenly dig up through the floor, singing cheery songs, and lead him to salvation on a sunbeam. 

 But, here they were. Stones made up the small, dank room, no more than eight feet on a side.The only light was an intermittent pulse from the hall outside, which crept in under the door.There was a pool of grimy water in one corner, origins unknown, and a thriving colony of spiders the size of his fist on the ceiling. 

 There was a bed, of sorts.It appeared to be stuffed full of straw.It was also occupied.

 Tucker hadn’t been alone when he’d been captured.

 “‘m fine,” Wash said hoarsely, clutching his useless arm to his chest.“You drink.Keep up your strength.”

 Tucker let loose a jagged noise.“You need to shut the fuck up and drink, or so help me god, Wash, I’ll knock you out and pour in down your throat, and then I’ll have to explain to Grey how you drowned in a room a hundred feet underground.”

 Because, on some level, he had to believe they would be seeing Grey and the rest of them, eventually.That was something he had to keep saying, both to himself and out loud, because the alternative was, well.

 Wash was going to die. 

 It was becoming more certain as the days crept by.Wash looked oddly small without armor on, crumpled atop the lumpy, stinking mattress.Tucker had done the best he could by tearing up his shirt for bandages, but the blood continued to seep through, and there were worrying red traces making their way up Wash’s arms.Felix had gone to town on him a few times since they’d been captured, dumping him back into the cell like a deranged cat bringing home a bird.So far, Tucker had been left alone, but Wash, when he had been more coherent, hadn’t seemed too surprised. 

 “They’re going to try to break you,” Wash had said, gritting his teeth as Tucker tried his best to irrigate the wound with their meager water ration.“Don’t.Tell them.Anything.”

 “Dude!I don’t know shit!Problem solved!”

 Now, Wash was glaring at him through bruised eyes.“Tucker…don’t _waste_ it on me.I’m not going to -“

 “Shut. The fuck.Up.” Tucker said.“You’re the one that told me not to let them break me.How about you help me the fuck out with that and drink some god damned water and _not die_ you total dickbite.”

 Wash sighed, but he let Tucker press the bottle against his lips and took a few swallows.Which was when Tucker noticed he was shivering. 

  _Shit_ , he thought, _shit shit shit_.He could remember being young and terribly sick, the warm pressure of his mom’s hand on his forehead, so he reached out, cupping Wash’s face with one hand, feeling around to the back of his neck.Wash didn’t even jerk when his hand passed over the implant site, which was worrying in it’s own right.He was burning up, a sickly, rotten fire that came off him in waves.

 “‘m cold,” Wash muttered, trying to lay down again, almost collapsing under effort of holding up his head.

 Tucker swallowed over a knot of hysterical panic and took a breath before responding.“Yeah.Yeah, I know you are, dude.”

 As carefully as he could, Tucker rearranged them, guiding Wash’s head onto his lap.His left arm was a mess, hastily bandaged, the creeping signs of infection already a few inches higher than they had been just hours before.Tucker reached out to touch it, but Wash hissed in pain, trying feebly to jerk his arm away. 

 “Shh shh, dude, calm down, I’m not going to yank it off,” Tucker said, his hands hovering uncertainly over Wash.There were so few places it wouldn’t hurt to touch him.

 “Might be better,” Wash said, his voice thick, “Might have to cut it off.”

 “We’re not cutting your god damned arm off!What do you want me to do, _chew_ through it?Just.Fucking shut up.Go to sleep.”

 “Too cold,” Wash said, now wracked with shivers.The cell was dank but not cold, just the stale, ambient humidity of old cellars.Wash’s hair was limp with fever sweat.Tucker did his best to brush it from his eyes. 

 “Ugh, fine,” Tucker said with studied nonchalance.“I knew you were trying to get me into bed, but I was kinda hoping the bodily fluid you’d be soaked in wasn’t going to be blood, if you know what I mean.”

 “What?” Wash muttered, curling harder around himself. 

 Tucker made a show of rolling his eyes and carefully laying down on the thin pallet, gently rolling Wash into him when he was settled, his head tucked under Tucker’s chin, arm cradled carefully between them.  


Tucker wrapped both his arms around Wash, trying to insulate him between the wall and his chest. 

 “Better?” he asked.The flutter of Wash’s breath over his clavicles wasn’t even a salve on all this bullshit, not with the stink of illness hanging unmoving in the air.He pressed his nose against Wash’s hair line, lips brushing a scar on his forehead.

 “Little,” Wash said.His eyes were kind of unfocused and in his current state he was unabashedly trying to burrow closer, unselfconsciously sliding up against Tucker’s chest, legs tangling heedlessly together.He made a few small, pained noises, eyes damp with sweat or tears, and Tucker tried to ignore the shattered, wild ache in his chest, gathering Wash as close as he could without hurting.  
  
“You’re okay,” Tucker said in spite of evidence.“The guys are coming.We’re gonna be fine.”

But Wash was already asleep.

 

*

In a distant way, Wash knew he was hallucinating.  Or dreaming.  Or some murky, terrifying combination of both.  He knew that, but it was hard to hold onto that certainty - it kept sliding through his fingers, leaving terror to take the void left behind.  The pain was alive, throbbing from his fingers to his shoulders, and his skin felt wrong, cold and burning at the same time. 

_Yeah, I’m probably going to die_ , Wash thought, unable to really dredge up any emotion about it, except perhaps the thinest shreds of relief.  It was long overdue, anyway.  Still.  Would have been nice to have Tucker…just to have just _had_ him, something he could have claimed for himself from the ashes, a slice of selfish indulgence in wartime.  But he’d never plucked up the nerve, had only leaned into the spaces that Tucker effortlessly created.  Sure, Tucker was game, but rumor had it that Tucker had also once successfully fucked a boulder, so Wash was pretty sure Tucker could alleviate his needs with just about anyone else, all without having to deal with the landfill of baggage that Wash came with.  It was better that way. 

Still.  Would have been nice.

His eyes felt prickly, and he found himself thinking about York, dead for years now.  York had the same cocksure stride, and had grinned at him, and teased him, and spent about six long, sweaty months fucking Wash into the mattress between drills and minor disasters.  It hadn’t been a love story, not really, although Wash winced at the memory of himself at twenty-one, freshly out of basic with stars in his eyes, shocked beyond belief that someone like _York_ wanted to have sex with him.  And then he remembered York dead, his dim visor, dying by inches with only Delta for company. 

“’m sorry, York,” Wash breath, pressing his face into York’s chest.  “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.”

York said something back, but it seemed like it was coming from a long way away.  It was kind of York to hold him like this, tucked up under his chin like they used to do in the narrow bunks on the MOI, especially since Wash had let him die alone on the edge of the world.  York’s arms were wrapped around him, and the pain seemed less severe.  Wash’s eyelashes brushed York’s throat and his collar bones were warm and soft against his lips.  Almost as an afterthought, Wash kissed him there a few times, for old time’s sake, open mouthed and messy, leaving bloody red smudge marks behind.  Wash wouldn’t be able to get it up for love or money, but some things are a comfort just for what they are.

“York,” he said, fighting to keep his eyes open, the less injured of his arms reaching out to grasp him by the hip.  A sudden sense of _wrongness_ welled up around him, and his voice sounded panicked to his own ears. “York, I’m sorry.”

“Easy,” a voice said.  It sounded despairing, and a hot ache lanced through Wash’s chest.  “Easy Wash.  You’re fine.  It’s okay.  York’s not here, man.”

“He’s dead,” Wash agreed, slumping into the man’s arms.

“I know.  You know that’s not your fault, right?  C’mon man, that’s not on you.”

Wash sighed heavily.  “I miss him.”

He leaned his forehead against the man’s chest, not very concerned about who he was.  He was warm and there was strength in the arms wrapped around him.  It was a kindness, one so genuine and unexpected that Wash felt his eyes start to well up again.  Without thinking about it, he laid a few more kisses across the man’s chest, only stopping when he went still. 

“Hey,” the man said, “Quit it, Wash.  You’re feverish, you don’t know what you’re doing, and neither of us is in any shape for this.”

Wash moved his hand up and down the man’s side, enjoying the contrast of his pale, freckled hand against the man’s darker skin.  Tucker had skin like that, and that memory made a ghost of a smile creep onto his face. 

“I think I’m dying,” he told the hallucination that looked like Tucker.  York hadn’t been there, York was years dead on another planet, and Wash’s body was just throwing up happy memories to ease him into the great beyond.  Obvious when he thought about it.

The hallucination started to protest but Wash held up one hand.  “S’okay.  It’s looong past time.  Do I get a last request?”

“Dude, you sound hammered.  I’m not granting you jack shit, what do I look like, a genie?  There’s fucking explosions happening outside, and that shit spells Red Team Rescue Party, you get me?  We’re getting out of here.  So stop the fucking pity party and _stop kissing me_.”

This last was added in a shriller tone of voice as Wash dragged his mouth up his throat.  He tasted grimy and salty, but he was solid and his throat clicked nervously when Wash nosed at his Adam’s apple.

“I just…it’s not fair,” Wash said pleadingly.  “It’s not…York died.  And Tucker…”

He sighed again.  “It would have been nice to get Tucker. Too nice for me, with the -“ he made a spiraling gesture next to his temple and made a Cuckoo sound.“But…”

An explosion sounded off nearby and dust floated down from the ceiling.“You’re not dying, asshole,” the hallucination said after a long pause, speaking directly into Wash’s ear.Strange, Wash’s fantasies weren’t usually this granular.  “You’re gonna live long enough for me to see you blush when you remember this shit.”

“If I’m dying, I should get my last request,” Wash said, desperation a tight collar around his throat - he could feel consciousness slipping away, and what if he didn’t wake up again? _Selfishness_ , Wash told himself.Last time he’d indulged in it, he’d fought and unsuccessful mission against the Reds and Blues - he’d killed Donut, he’d killed _so many_ people.So, this sort of selfishness couldn’t be all bad, he thought, fever sweat pouring down his back.No one got hurt and Wash would get to die, if not happy, then with one less regret.   

Before the Tucker-shaped hallucination could pull away, Wash leaned in faster than he thought himself capable at that moment and kissed it full on the mouth.  It wasn’t a particularly good kiss; noses bumped, teeth clacked together.  They were both too tired and too dehydrated and too emotionally fragile for anything like passion, but it felt _good_ , Wash thought, impressed with his own imagination.  Tucker tasted faintly of blood and sweat and he slid his hand down onto Wash’s ass as the kiss went on, fingers gently pulling him closer.  When it broke, Tucker kissed him again, muttering between kisses that he was _totally going to hell for this_ and _Lina is gonna kick my ass_.

There was another huge noise from the hallway.  Wash realized that it had been getting louder and closer for some time, but this blast shook dust from the walls. 

“Hey!  Ya big blue babies!  The cavalry is here!  Step to it, this ain’t no scenic boat ride!”

“Moron,” Tucker said, pressing a kiss to Wash’s forehead.  “I told you we’d be rescued.”Outside, there was another blast of gun fire.

“Grif!Are you okay?”  


“Jesus Christ, I’m FINE.Barely.”

“Dagnabbit.That was my last shell, too.”

“Fuck you, Sarge.”

Tucker sighed. “Now we just have to survive the rescue.”

“Neat,” Wash said, and promptly passed out. 

 * 

In the end, Tucker was discharged after an overnight stay for observation and IV fluids, with stern instructions from Grey not to do any conditioning until he’d recovered for a week - a prohibition that made Grif give up drinking water for days to see if he could similarly slip training. 

Wash, however, was still laid up almost a week later, pale and small on the astringent hospital sheets. Tucker hung in the shadows of the medical bay, chewing on the lace from his hoodie.Grey, insufferable genius that she was, had his armor under lock and key in one of the storage rooms and would keep them until he’d passed her follow-up visit.Now he was dressed in a rag tag outfit that had come out of lost and found - the hoodie had been donated by Caboose and was neon pink with sequins around the pockets.Tucker loved it unironically. 

But Grey hadn’t kicked him out for being there after hours, so that was something.Good, old, somewhat psychotic Grey. If there was a medic in the galaxy in a stable relationship with sanity, he’d yet to meet them.  

“Stop looming,” Wash said, startling him.He turned ponderously in bed, his arm still strapped across his chest.Broken in three places, Grey had said, probably twisted up behind his back past the breaking point.Fucking _Felix._

After a moment, Tucker puffed up his chest with bravado that he didn’t really feel.“Loom?I’m not looming.I’m fucking _chilling_ , bro.” 

Wash laughed shortly, tipping his head back against his pillow, mouthing “bro” to himself. 

“Anyway, gotta run, horses to woo and women to ride off on -“

“No!” Wash said and then stopped himself, blushing hotly.“I mean.I’m already up.”

Tucker shifted and then puffed out a breath, stepping closer to the bedside and flinging himself down in a chair.“Sup?”

“Like your sweatshirt,” Wash managed, looking sidelong at him.  

“Caboose’s,” Tucker said, “Something about little ponies.Don’t ask me where he got it.”

“Very…pink.”

Tucker grinned at him.“Lightish red.”

They both laughed, and an uncomfortable silence settled in its wake, peppered with the chirp of medical machinery and the distant murmur of voices.Tucker rocked forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, looking at his hands studiously. 

“Look, I - “

“Wash, I’m -“

They both stopped, laughed awkwardly, and stared at each other.  

“You go,” Tucker said finally, “I’ll chime in when you start being fucking stupid.”

“Thanks,” Wash said wryly.“Look, Tucker - I’m…sorry.For the position I put you in when I was…ill.I put you in an…uncomfortable spot, and for that I apologize-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tucker said, jerking upright.“That sure as shit didn’t take long.Are we talking about when you asked me to cut your arm off?Because that’s pretty high up there on the stupid shit you’ve said list.It’s right up there with liking the Star Wars prequels.”

Wash glowered.“Jar Jar Binks aside, I thought the backstory was interesting.And anyway, _no_ , that’s not was I was talking about.”

“Was is bleeding all over me?Telling me to let your die?Passing out and making me fucking carry you all the way back here?”  


“Caboose carried me back here, and you know what I’m talking about it,”Wash was staring at the blankets in front him with furious concentration.“I’m…sorry.I shouldn’t have…taken advantage of you like that.”

Tucker snorted, feeling a keen twist of guilt in his chest.“Dude, I was the one that copped a feel when you were out of your fucking mind.Stop apologizing.”  


Wash glanced at him, his gaze concerned and nervous.“I just - when you didn’t come to see me -“ 

Tucker rolled his eyes.“I fucking came to see you tons, moron.You were unconscious for most of it.And when you woke up, I figured you didn’t want to see me.Because of the whole, you know, playing grab ass when you were fucking past the point of safe, sane, consensual.”

“What?” Wash said, looking at him full on for the first time.“Tucker, you-“

“You thought I was York,” Tucker said miserably.“And I still - “

“I thought you were _you_ ,” Wash said, all in a rush.“I thought you were a hallucination but…”Wash rubbed a hand down over his face.  

Tucker chewed on the hoodie string, watching Wash closely.“Last request, huh?” he said, his voice almost teasing.“You’re one dramatic motherfucker, you know that?”  
  
“It has been mentioned,” Wash said, feeling the blush spread down his neck. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

“What?”

“You know.York.Me and you.”

“No,” Wash said stiffly.“No.And there isn’t a me and you, Tucker.There can’t be.We’re-“

“Ughhhh Jesus Christ, you Freelancers are a fucking mess you know that?”Tucker scooted his chair closer.“Let me lay this out for you, I’ve had a hard on for you forever.I was going to make a move, but you always got weird, and I thought, hey, shit, maybe he’s not into it, which, I grant you, seems im-fucking-possible, but there’s no accounting for taste.But now, it’s apparently this masochistic bullshit where you want to gaze at me across a crowded room and cry yourself to sleep over it, and I’m not having any of it.We’re gonna fuck, you’re gonna like it, and I swear to god, if you try to feed me some line about _not being worthy_ , I will kick your ass into next Tuesday.”

After a moment, Wash said.“Tucker, there’s so many other people that could - I mean, didn’t you fuck a boulder once?”

Feeling much perkier than he had since he’d been discharged, Tucker leveled a finger at him.“That is a lie and you know it.I just _jerked off_ behind a boulder.And, for your information, if I’d known you then, I’d probably be jerking off to you.Even if there were tons of other people around.”He paused, then added, “Uh, that didn’t come out right.”

“Romance lives,” Wash said, feeling his lips twitch despite himself. 

“So how about you stop the fucking pity parade and start boning me.Tell yourself you’re doing me a favor if you need to.Because, man.I am _hard up.”_

_“_ Bow chicka wow wow?” Wash said feebly, causing Tucker’s face to split in a huge grin. 

“Fuck _yeah_ bow chicka wow wow.Wanna play doctor?”

“My arm is in like four pieces, Tucker,” Wash said.“And it’s just - people around me get hurt.” 

“Dude, my team has died and come back too many times to count.And it’s not like I’m weaving baskets as a day job.It’s a war.It’s gonna be a war with or without nasty fucking and I prefer the _with_.”

Wash just looked at him helplessly.Tucker clapped his hands together.“It’s settled then.Here, scooch over.”

Carefully, Wash did so, and wasn’t surprised when Tucker clamored up into the cot beside him, easy and unashamed.“Shouldn’t we talk more about this?” Wash said, grunting as Tucker rearranged them.

Tucker just snorted.“Yeah.Like that’s a good idea, cos we’re both fucking prime examples of talking about our feelings.How about we put it off until we can’t anymore and then figure it out from there?”

“Wing it,” Wash said, letting Tucker carefully fold around him.The machines chirped, betraying an uptick of his pulse.With his head resting on Tucker’s shoulder, he fervently wished Grey didn’t come to check in on them.Or not.Fuck it.

“Fuck yeah, we’re gonna wing it,” Tucker said happily, his fingers lacing with surprising gentleness around Wash’s good hand.“It’s what we do best.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I'm over at allthingsmustfall on tumblr
> 
> Title from the most excellent Josh Ritter's [Change of Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2iSmrryfxGM) because song fic doesn't die, it just fades away.


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